


some things last

by robotchangeling



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Dream Sequence, M/M, maelgwyn is also there, scenes from the mansion, set shortly after winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-28 05:19:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16234967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robotchangeling/pseuds/robotchangeling
Summary: Samot dreams; Samothes reaches out. A falling apart and a coming together.





	some things last

When Samot closed his eyes on the world and opened them to a dream, he found himself standing outside the place he once called home. This itself was not unusual. There were mornings, still, when he awoke to memories of this place and its inhabitants, their unasked-for taste bitter on his tongue. It was rarer, however, that he feel this aware, this present, as he dreamed it.

He could feel something in the house calling to him, some half-formed feeling telling him to enter. He took a step forward. 

_ Maelgwyn collides with Samot’s legs all in a rush, runs to Samothes who lifts him into the air and he laughs and laughs— _

Samot froze, one foot in front of the other. The memory was gone, now, but the feeling remained around his edges, a presence he could almost touch. He pushed back into it, and he—

_ —steps forward and joins the laughter, presses a kiss to Maelgwyn’s cheek and another to Samothes’, does not feel in this moment the pressure surely closing in around them until— _

Samot pressed his eyes shut and exhaled slowly. So it was to be like this, then. Further out from the house, this space seemed encompassed by a darkness, the scenery bleeding into shadow. He looked around for a moment longer, but he still felt the pull towards the house, so he skirted around the memory and continued forward. 

He steeled himself as he approached the front door, took—

_ —takes a shaky breath as he does. It hurts, still, to come here again, to surround himself with so much that Maelgwyn touched, that Samothes made. Not the grand constructions of his city or his weapons of war, though Samot sees his husband’s handiwork there as well. But here, here are the remnants of a life, of that which they built together. Samol knows this, but still— _

—still invited him. And still he went, then. Samot shook his head, tried to center himself on the present. As present as any of this could be, he supposed. 

Without further hesitation, he made his way inside. Through the foyer and down the hall: his steps took him to the dining room. Always there, in dreams, wasn’t it? Through the windows the darkness seemed more intense, now. He could barely make out even the nearest trees. 

_ Samot stares out the window and pokes at the food on his plate. “Well,” he says, “perhaps if some people could accept that theirs is not the only perspective that matters…” _

_ “It’s hardly a matter of perspective,” Samothes replies, “when it seems certain people would rather ignore reality entirely.” _

_ Samot sets down his fork and turns to Samothes fiercely. “When has reality ever been immutable?” _

_ There’s the scrape of a chair to their side. Samothes says, “Maelgwyn, eat your dinner.” _

This table, oh this table held so many meals, dishes upon dishes interlocked and piled high. He could sit, lose himself in them for a while. Perhaps he would, if not for the conversation that sat heavy at the other end, threatening to pull him in. He’d revisited that memory enough already, that precursor to Maelgwyn’s birth, and he had no desire to do so now. 

Another fateful moment lived in this room, of course. Samot could feel it in the air as he moved towards the other door. He faltered, felt a ghost of a hand on his cheek, felt the words force their shape through his lips— _ you know I have to _ —and then he reached the doorway. 

The kitchen lay before him. Beyond it, through the windows, the darkness edged ever closer. To his relief, and unease, it didn’t seem quite the same as that old familiar foe. Less opaque, and more substantial. He moved to get a better look, but—

_ “Honestly, what would you do without me?” Samot laughs, with certainty. Brushes flour fingerprints from his face. _

_ Spices fetched from a cabinet he organized, exchanged for a kiss. “Miss you terribly, I imagine.” Samothes says with a smile. With confidence. _

_ Samot sips from his goblet, peers at his husband slyly over the rim. “Oh? And how long would you wait for me to return?” _

For a moment, as clear as anything, he saw the room around him waterlogged and flooded. When he blinked the image was gone. 

Out of the kitchen, then, and into the living room. He ran a hand along the couch as he passed, remembering—

_ “I can't just sit here and let it come,” Samot says. “And I won’t. We have a child now to think of; if for nothing else, then surely for him…” _

_ “A child who needs us here,” Samothes counters. “Would you put all that we have in danger?” _

_ Samot reaches out, cups his husband’s cheek. “Samothes,” he breathes. “It’s already in danger. I’m only trying to protect us all.” _

_ Samothes holds Samot’s hand to his face. He smiles now, bittersweet. “ _ I know you were, _ ” he says. Samot blinks— _

—blinked, found himself alone again. 

This house carried the echoes of a time of greater power, other outcomes shifting in the periphery. Samot tried to grasp at one, just to see _ —Samothes stops him in the doorway before he leaves, says: wait, I relent, I won’t fight you, just don't— _ ah, not that, no _ —no, Samot returns, says once more, listen, and Samothes does— _ no, each time the visions decayed around him, crumbling into nothing. This space was not his to control. Or perhaps some histories were simply too far-fetched, even for dreams.

He put it aside and continued. The stairs creaked in places they never did in life. It felt oddly unsturdy, as if they could collapse beneath him. On careful feet he came to where the walls were hung with blueprints and rough designs. To the desk where Samothes sketched them while away from his forge. 

_ Samot wraps his arms around Samothes, presses a kiss to his shoulder, to the back of his neck. “Maelgwyn is finally asleep,” he murmurs. _

_ “‘Finally’, is it?” Samothes teases. “I take it you have something specific in mind?” Samot smiles against his husband’s back, lets his hands wander lower. Samothes says, softly, “ _ I miss all of this. _ ” He turns and lifts Samot onto the desk, and Samot laughs into his kiss.  _

From here he had a clearer view of the house’s surroundings, and finally he could comprehend what he saw. Not Nothing at all, but the murky darkness of a place deep underwater. That same water that was, even now, rising up the staircase and dripping up-and-down the walls. He could see it pressing up against the windows, but the doors to the balcony stood open, and he walked forward.

_ Maelgwyn grins up at him from the ground, holding up the firefly held captive in his hands. Samot watches over him as he runs to chase after more. After a moment Samothes joins him, hands on the railing, overlooking the yard where Maelgwyn plays and the darkening sky above. Samot rests his chin on Samothes’ shoulder, smiles insistently until his husband relaxes and presses a kiss to his temple.  _

_ Samothes lifts his eyes to the sky again, to the stars that  _ shouldn’t yet  _ shine there. _ “They’re beautiful,” _ he says. “You’re beautiful,” he says—and Samot shades his eyes with his hand, “Did you have to make it quite so hot, my dear?” he laughs—“our son is  _ gone _ ,” he says. Maelgwyn runs, one hand covered in glowing insects. The floor tilts up beneath him and Samot falls— _

—landed on his back inside with a small splash, water pooling on the floor around him. The carpet will be ruined, he thought for an odd moment. And then he rose. As he stepped carefully towards the hallway, more brief flashes of memory came to him. He turned the corner and—

_ —awakens with a jolt, fruitless research spread out before him, and Samothes stroking his hair, saying “come to bed, love”— _

—passed by the portraits hanging in the hall, faces distorted in the edges of his vision and—

_ —when Samothes carries him to bed, Samot buries his face in his neck and doesn't let go. _

Until he was in their bedroom, water creeping in from the doorway and the edges of the windows. He touched a tentative hand to the bed before him.

_ Samot worries at the sheets beneath his hands, digs his nails in deep. “I want you by my side, my husband,” he whispers at Samothes’ sleeping back. “I don’t know how to help you if you won’t fight it with me. Please, I…” Samothes stirs, for a moment, and Samot falls silent. Focuses on his husband’s breathing, wipes any tears from his eyes. Finally, finally he presses himself back around Samothes’ form, pretends for a while longer— _

—and he settled onto the edge of the bed, looked at his hand spread flat on the mattress. Imagined Samothes taking it. Ignored the flood lapping at his ankles. 

_ They sit, hands entwined. Tears on their faces, dried. Samothes says,  _ “I would try this again, try us again, if you will have me.”

_ “I have you,” Samot murmurs, arms around him in their shared sorrow—“I have you,” breathless as Samothes comes apart under him, beautifully, hands clenched tight in the sheets—hands grasping for him, always—as long as this lasts, I have you— _

_ Samothes says, _ “It can’t ever be the same, but it can be something. It can Be.”

_ Waking with Maelgwyn wedged between them— _ dissolved like sugar into the rising water—Samothes’ voice echoed back to him from so long ago—

_ “Samol is right, you know. We can't go on the way we’ve been.” Fingers trailing down his back, here in this place so new. _

_ “I know.” A kiss to Samothes’ collarbone. “But I don't know if this will be enough.” _

The water rose above his head, and he kicked off from the bed, flailing into the darkness. He reached for the wall but it crumbled at his touch, leaving him floating through room after underwater room. Now he passed through a bedroom, now the living room, now the kitchen—

One last moment before he woke, before the roof gave in and the walls gave out and sleep was washed away. One last image:  _ Samothes standing with smile and spatula. Hands covered in flour.  _

_ “For you, love? I’d wait a million years.” _

**Author's Note:**

> find me on twitter @robotchangeling, I for one am ready for Spring to kick my ass


End file.
